


Spectrum

by dareofshadowpack



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Historical, Implied Relationships, LOTS of implied relationships, Multi, WWII, and i dont wanna write all them, first major thing, here it is, i hope no one's done this yet, im doing the thing, literally every character is here, so just trust me ok, they are all important, this gon b gr8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 18:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dareofshadowpack/pseuds/dareofshadowpack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the bombs go off and your family is gone, there's nothing you can do but stand and watch helplessly as the blood pools around them. When you finally find a family willing to accept you as one of their own, everything goes downhill. Like it wasn't already downhill from the start. When you find yourself stranded in the middle of a ruthless concentration camp, what do you do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spectrum

                He awoke to the sound of gunshots and breaking glass. The cool night air drifted through his broken bedroom window, and the sounds of a riot were only growing louder. The boy stumbled out of his bed with instant curiosity fueling his feet as he made his way towards the window. He stepped around the broken glass with care, clutching the crab plush in his arms as he stood on his tip-toes to get a better look outside. Torches lit every street corner and people yelled profanities at each other like it was some kind of sick parade. They threw rocks at people’s windows and bludgeoned those who came out of the buildings. Some forced those poor people to come out, just so they could beat them with sticks and throw edged rocks at them.

                He could hear his dad’s booming footsteps as the man burst into his room. His hair was a mess and he must have not had time to shave, judging by the five o’clock shadow engulfing his chin.

                “Karkat!” He screeched, rushing over to his son and scooping him up in his arms. The fourteen year old didn’t appreciate being picked up, but he tolerated it nonetheless since his father seemed to be in a big rush.

                “Dad, what’s going on?” The boy asked, a worried expression plastering onto his face.

                “Nothing, sweetheart.” He sounded out of breath as he stuffed Karkat in the cellar downstairs. “Just stay here, a-and don’t come back out until I say so. I don’t wanna hear a peep out ‘a you!”

                “But Dad-!” Karkat protested, only to be hushed by his father’s loving embrace.

                “Boy, don’t disobey me this time.” He said, hugging his son tightly in his arms before pulling away. “I’m not going to lose you too!”

                “DAD!” _BOOM._ The man he had called his father shut the cellar door and locked it, leaving poor Karkat to sit and wonder what the fuck was happening. It was quieter in the cellar, and for a time Karkat wondered if shutting him in there was really necessary. However, all of those thoughts were quelled when he heard the door being knocked down from outside the cellar. He could hear the mob’s muffled yelling as they demanded valuables from his father. However, Mister Vantas stood strong and told them to leave-he had nothing of value.

                  _CRASH._ There went the dishes. Karkat’s heart was pounding in his chest as he desperately looked for someplace to hide. Like hiding in a dark cellar wasn’t enough! There were crates upon crates filled to the brim with potatoes and things, and behind all those to the boy’s relief, was a large tarp just waiting to be tripped on. Naturally, he slid on it and had a good first meeting with the floor. He sat in silence, hoping they wouldn’t notice the loud thud from below them. Luckily for him, their quest for personal possessions was more important than a dingy cellar. When he was sure they were distracted with other things, Karkat slipped under the tarp with his crab plush in tow.

                 He lay there, absolutely still until he fell asleep. The noise upstairs had lessened, and he felt calmer knowing the brutes were out of his house. Karkat slept soundly in the cellar under the tarp, using his precious crab as a pillow. He felt childish carrying it around with him all the time, but sometimes having a security blanket was a good thing.

                The morning was not pleasant.

 

                It was difficult getting out of the cellar without the key, but since his dad had yet to let him out Karkat saw it fit to break the door with one of the potato crates. That really wasn’t the best idea, considering there were at least fifty potatoes in that crate, but hey. Unfortunately for Karkat, the amount of potatoes in the crate made for too much weight for him to handle, and so he immediately brought down all fifty potatoes on his chest. He sputtered with distaste as he shoved the pile of potatoes off his chest and got up. He needed to find something else, because a crate of potatoes was _not_ going to work with his puny arms. He shuffled around the cellar, feeling the floor daintily with his feet to look for anything that could get him out of this claustrophobic penthouse. Misfortune disguised as fortune rolled around the corner (along with a wailing toe that had been stubbed on something metal) when a crowbar was found at his feet. Karkat felt it to make sure it’s what he needed before he ran at the cellar door and rammed it with the crowbar he had found. He made a good hole in it, but it took several whacks with the crowbar (was this even how you were supposed to use it?) before he made a hole big enough for him to climb his way out. What he saw outside the cellar was worse than those potatoes that had fallen upon him earlier. Much worse.

                The shop was destroyed-hell, their entire house was destroyed-and glass was everywhere. The thugs from the previous night left the house with broken dishes and pots strewn across the kitchen floor, everything in the shop up front was in a devastating mess, they robbed them of basically every speck of money they had earned, and his father was nowhere to be found. Flames still burned in small embers outside, and the streets were a mess of bloody people and their maltreated belongings. It really had been a riot, hadn’t it?

                “Dad?” Karkat called, stepping over broken glass and pottery. The sofa in the parlor room was torn to shreds, and the TV was gone. More shards of glass littered the dining room. “Dad!”

                Their house needed some serious repairs. Those ungrateful thugs saw fit to destroy parts of the staircase, and light bulb pieces were beneath the area where there used to be a hallway light. They were covered in blood. Karkat stiffened and held his crab even tighter. He glanced back at the open doorway, debating on whether or not he should run.

 

                He chose to investigate.

 

                 Investigating was the absolute worst choice ever. When Karkat tip-toed into his room, there lay his father, in a pool of his own blood. The boy sucked in a harsh breath and stumbled backwards into the wall. Shivers ran up and down his spine as he put a hand over his mouth. He felt like he was going to vomit. That was his dad? What the fuck did those bastards do to him?!

                 It was a while before Karkat had the nerve to rise from his spot and tread back into his room. The boy swallowed and glared at the glazed eyes that his father now possessed. He was gone. Another swallow-trying to hold back tears. Dried blood ran from his forehead to the floor, cuts were all over his arms and chest (probably from the shards of light bulb he saw earlier in the hallway), and his arm was outstretched towards Karkat’s bed. Out of curiosity, Karkat wandered to his bed and gazed upon the note that was there. It was addressed to him, and slightly coated in dried blood. Karkat immediately snatched it in his hands and began reading.

 

_Son,_

_I’m so sorry. I tried. I really did. But it was no good. I just want to see you be successful, and I want you to know that I’m so proud of you and that I love you with all my heart._

_I will always be watching you from the Great Beyond. I know you will achieve greatness someday._

_I love you._

                The crab dropped to the floor before Karkat fell to his knees. He was trying to keep from crying, but the hot tears squeezed their way out and streamed down his face like never ending rivulets.

 

_I love you._

                Karkat choked, the note crumpling in his hands as he looked at his dead father behind him.

 

_I will always be watching._

 

                The boy crawled to his father and let out a loud sob right there. He suddenly didn’t care about the blood all over the nice wood floor. Karkat sat there crying on his father’s corpse, hoping to God that he would come back, but he knew that wouldn’t happen. Once he was an angel, he was going to stay like that forever. His father was dead, and he wasn’t coming back.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how long the intervals between updates will be, but I will find time whenever possible to write this. Please bear with me as this does involve a few crucial points in world history that will shape the way I write it; I'm trying to be as accurate as possible, and I hope y'all enjoy it!


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